


Recruitment

by SupernaturalFlavoredLollipop



Category: Supernatural, Supernatural Novels - Various
Genre: Dean x Reader, Demons, F/M, Female Hunter, Hunter - Freeform, Mark of Cain, Supernatural - Freeform, dean recruiting hunter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-09
Updated: 2015-03-29
Packaged: 2018-03-17 01:17:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 19,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3509789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SupernaturalFlavoredLollipop/pseuds/SupernaturalFlavoredLollipop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Imagine Dean reluctantly trying to recruit you as a hunting partner.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

You answer your phone with the usual. “Yeah?” It's met with a brief pause on the other end. Then an unfamiliar voice comes through.

 

“Y/N?” The connection is bad, but a male voice is asking for you.

 

“Yeah, this is her. Who's this?” You ask absently. You're surveying the damage to your car. The hunt you were just on went all right... except the demon you just ganked knocked an AC unit onto your Mustang before you killed him. Shit. Your ride was fucked. No amount of work in the world was going to fix this.

 

“This is Sam Winchester.” The voice on the other end answers. You stop circling your defunct car immediately- this got your attention. Why was a Winchester calling you?

 

“Sam Winchester.” You repeat his name slowly. “And to what do I owe the pleasure?”

 

“You've heard of me?” He seems surprised.

 

“Everyone's heard of you.” You say. He's silent a moment, then begins speaking again.

 

“My brother Dean is on his way to meet you. He'll be in Tucson this evening. He needs a hunting partner and-”

 

“I work alone, sorry.”

 

“Hear me out, Y/N.” Sam Winchester says, and his voice is so sincere, you stop yourself from hanging up at the last second.

 

“Fine.”

 

“I broke my leg. And Dean's in no shape to hunt alone. Trust me, he isn't happy about this either. Just talk to him?” Sam implores you.

 

You sigh, looking up at the hot afternoon sun. “How does your brother even know where I am?”

 

“We have... ways.” He's evasive. You shrug. You'll find out soon enough.

 

“Fine. Have him meet me at the North Bar on Ninth at seven pm. I'll be in the back booth.” You click your phone off, and begin shoving your arsenal of weapons from your trunk into a duffel bag.

 

* * *

 

The bar was dark and industrial. You watch as the man strides to your table and slides in across from you. He's tall and handsome in a rugged sort of way. He doesn't seem pleased at this meeting either. In fact he looks tired. His sandy blonde hair is windblown, and his green eyes look haunted. From what you know about the Winchesters, they've seen some shit. You extend your hand. “You must be Dean.”

 

He shakes it, letting it go quickly. “Listen, this wasn't my idea. It's my brother's half-cocked idea that you're a good replacement hunting partner for me.”

 

“But you're here.” You point out. He sighs, letting out a deep pent up breath. He nods.

 

“Yeah. Well, you try living with him once he's determined.” Dean orders a beer and looks heavily at you. “I'm going after Crowley. Sam insists that I shouldn't go alone. He did whatever it is he does on his laptop, and your name popped up.”

 

“You're going after the King of Hell.” You say, slightly amused.

 

“Why is this funny?”

 

“Aren't you _always_ after him?”

 

Dean looks at you, suspicious. “How would you know that?”

 

“Anyone with a library card or an internet connection knows quite a bit about your exploits.”

 

Dean rubs his face, embarrassment spreading over it like wildfire. “Jesus Christ. You've read the books?” You nod, smiling. “They were written by a prophet. I had _nothing_ to do with that!”

 

“They apparently don't make prophets like they used to.” You say. “Most of that was _straight up smut._ ”

 

“You're the one who read them. _All of them?_ ”

 

You nod and shrug. “I spend a lot of time on the road. Sometimes a little smut isn't a bad thing.” You stop, make a face, and look away. “Though it _IS_ a little awkward now that you're sitting across the table from me. I feel like I know _a little too much about certain things regarding... you_.”

 

“Yeah, we can _not_ go there.”

 

“So why does Sam insist on you hunting with me?” You ask, changing the subject as quickly as possible.

 

Dean sits up straighter as his beer is delivered. “He says you're good at what you do, if a little hardcore about it. He thinks you can keep up. He also thinks you can keep me in line.”

 

“ _Keep you in line_?” You ask. What the hell is that supposed to mean?

 

Dean shakes it off. “Don't worry about it. It's Sam being... Sam.”

 

You weren't so sure about that. “Well, Dean, I'm used to working alone. I don't like worrying about anyone else. I also don't like being told what to do.”

 

“Yeah, trust me, I know. I know all about you, Sweetheart.” He looks at you, a hard look in his eyes.

 

You gulp. “Yeah?” What exactly did he know?

 

He nods slowly.

 

“Like how much?”

 

“Like everything.” His eyes are like emeralds, staring into your soul. You suddenly don't feel as tough as you usually do. You put on some false bravado.

 

“Then you know I don't fuck around.”

 

“I know not everything you kill are monsters.” He levels at you.

 

You glare at him. “Let's get one thing straight here. Everything I have ever ganked was a monster. But sometimes monsters look an awful lot like humans.”

 

He's silent for a while. He keeps absentmindedly rubbing his right arm, as if something is itching or irritating him under his shirt. He finally stops and nods at you. “Fair enough.” He says. “So, are we gonna do this or not?”

 

You take a deep breath. “Well, you're the one seeking me out. And since I'm currently car-less, I'm considering helping you. But if you don't like what you see, you can always get back in that sweet ride of yours and head back to wherever you call home.”

 

Dean looks you up and down. “I never said I don't like what I see.”

 


	2. Long Black Road

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Imagine Dean has recruited you to hunt with him while Sam recovers from a broken leg, and you begin to realize something is a little off about him.

 

You'd been tooling around with Dean Winchester now for about a week, going on small hunts, making your way back across the states from Arizona, where he'd picked you up, to Louisiana, where he had a contact that supposedly had info on Crowley. Dean had been distant and relatively quiet for the first few days, but somewhere around El Paso, he'd finally broken his silence.

 

You'd been riding shotgun in his ancient Impala, listening to the only classic rock station that came in in that part of the state, when the song “Long Black Road” came on. You'd been halfheartedly listening to the music all day, dicking with your phone and looking for hauntings or weird shit that you two could take care of on your way to Louisiana, when the tune caught your ear and you began to sing under your breath. As the chorus approached, you began to sing louder, shaking your shoulders and moving your head a little from side to side while scrolling through your phone.

 

“You gotta get up in the morning take your heavy load, and you gotta keep goin' down the (boom boom) _long black road!_ ” You both sang out loudly. You clammed up right away, eyes sliding over to the man sitting next to you.

 

“Did we just have a moment?” Dean smirked and raised an eyebrow at you.

 

You gulped, and actually began to chuckle. “I think we _did_.” You raised both eyebrows at him and nodded slowly. “ _I think we did._ ”

 

“And here I thought you'd never say a damned thing to me. Most boring hunting partner ever.” Dean moved his hands up and down on the steering wheel, drumming to the music.

 

“Me. Boring? You're the one who's been an ice princess since we left Tucson.” You rolled your eyes.

 

“Ice princess?” He snorted. “I will _so_ get you back for that one. No one calls Dean Winchester an ice princess and lives to tell about it.”

 

“Okay... ice princess.” You let out under your breath, and shrieked as he flung a hamburger wrapper across the front seat at you.

 

_You gotta get up in the morning take your heavy load, and you gotta keep goin' down the long black road._

* * *

 

You'd finished a simple salt and burn in Jasper, Texas, the next day, dropped your stuff off at a seedy motel (as usual), and found the nearest dive bar. In the back of your mind, you still were concerned about Dean's comment on your first meeting, about how Sam thought you were strong enough and could “keep him in line.” So far, you didn't see much that you needed to keep in line, except maybe his mouth on occasion. You _did_ see his tendency to smart off at people, but figured that was his own business.

 

You'd been at the bar a few hours, leisurely knocking back beers and trading hunting stories. You were in the middle of a particularly harrowing tale of fighting a mutant slime monster (something that Dean had actually never seen before. You'd been under the impression that the Winchesters had seen everything) when Dean excused himself.

 

“Hold that thought,” he said, getting up from the high top table you were both occupying. “Ice princess here needs to use the little girls room.” He winked at you, the wink you'd seen him reserve for waitresses and cute gas station attendants, and strode off to the back of the bar. You rolled your eyes. _Someone_ had obviously had a few too many. You tilted your head back to take the last drink of your Corona, when a tall man in a tight white tee shirt with big muscles, slicked back hair and a dragon tattoo sleeve slid into the seat across from you.

 

“Hey there gorgeous.” He slurred his words at you and wiggled his eyebrows. Great. Just what you needed.

 

“Hey,” you replied, sighing.

 

“That guy that just left. He your boyfriend?”

 

“Dean? Nah. He's my business partner.” You could have easily just told the guy that Dean was your boyfriend, but you weren't about letting other people fight your battles for you. Plus, you had a feeling it wouldn't do anything to dissuade this guy, and probably just spur him to try to talk some shit to Dean.

 

“Ah, so you're single then.” The clearly drunk man grinned from ear to ear, and began inching his way around towards you.

 

“Guess so.” You looked at him flatly.

 

“Well that's great! Because I've got just what a girl like you needs.” He was creeping up on you fast.

 

“I highly doubt that.” You turned towards him, crossing your hands over your chest and putting your chair between the two of you.

 

“A lonely girl like you? I know what girls like you want.” He reached out to touch you. Lighting quick, you grabbed his wrist, twisted it, and had him whimpering in seconds.

 

“Listen, asshole. First of all, you have no idea what the fuck a girl like me needs. Second, you're hardly the man to give it to me. And third, have some fucking respect.” You let go of his wrist, and pushed him back from you. His eyes narrowed. You could see out of your peripheral vision that some of his friends had noticed what was going on, and were starting to gather.

 

“Bitch.” The man snarled at you. “Now I wouldn't let you ride this even if you begged me for it.” He stalked past you, but at the very last second, you felt his hand reach back and grab your ass. Hard. You whirled around, ready to hit him, but he was already on the floor...

 

Dean had come back from the bathroom at the exact moment that Mr. Slick Hair had decided to grope you, and had grabbed him by the throat and thrown him to the ground in one fluid movement. He punched him across the face twice, bloodying his nose. Two of the man's friends grabbed Dean and pulled him off of the guy, who got up, nose dripping blood, and threw a punch back at Dean, clocking him pretty good across the side of the jaw.

 

The look that you saw pass through Dean's eyes in that moment scared you. It was unlike anything you'd ever seen before. And that's when he lost it.

 

The man's friends each had one of Dean's arms and were holding him back while the man with the slicked back hair drew back to punch him again. You tackled him before he could, but soon realized it wasn't necessary. Dean broke free, elbowed one of the men in the face, grabbed your newly finished Corona bottle from the table, smashed it on the head of the other man, and went about beating the shit out of the guy who had groped you. A few more of the man's friends jumped in. Pretty soon, chairs were being smashed over people's heads, more bottles were being broken, someone got shanked in the thigh with a broken bottle, and Dean was throwing people around like rag dolls. Eventually he was back on top of the original guy, and wouldn't stop hitting him.

 

“Dean!” you yelled at him. “Dean! God damn it! Dean!” You grabbed his shoulder, but he shook you off. He was straddling the man, pummeling him, surrounded by the groaning or unconscious bodies of the man's friends. Finally you jumped on his back, getting him in a chokehold. He paused for a split second, stopped hitting the man, whose face was now so swollen as to be almost unrecognizable. “Dean,” you whispered into his ear. “Dean, stop. Stop. We need to leave. The bartender is calling the police. We need to leave. Now.”

 

Dean nodded, got up, and you pulled him by the arm out into the cool night air. You fished the keys out of his jacket pocket, but he took them from you, and got in the driver's side door. You climbed into the passenger seat and you both drove off, away from the bar, the opposite way from the hotel, and doubled back once you were a few streets away.

 

“What the _hell_ was that?” You finally peered over at him.

 

“He was touching you.”

 

“And I appreciate you sticking up for me, even though I had it handled. But don't you think you went _a little overboard?”_ You were internally wondering if Dean Winchester were a little bit insane now. Actually you were wondering if her were batshit crazy. He'd almost killed five men in a bar, because one of them had grabbed your butt. You could have knocked that asshole out on your own, and as disrespectful as it was, he didn't deserve to die because of it. Definitely get knocked around a little, but not have Dean go berserk and kill his ass.

 

Dean stared straight ahead at the road. He didn't answer for a long time. “I couldn't stop,” he finally said quietly.

 

He pulled into the hotel parking lot, and you both entered the room. He went immediately to the bathroom. He was covered in blood, the majority of it not his own. You heard the shower start to run. You flopped down on the bed. You picked up your phone and texted Sam.  _Sam, I need to talk to you about Dean. I'm calling you once he's asleep tonight, no matter how late. You'd better answer._

 

A minute later, you got a text back. _What happened? I'll be awake._

 

 _He nearly killed five guys in a bar. I need to know what the fuck is going on._ You replied. _I'll call when I can, and you'd better have answers._

 

You kicked off your boots. You waited for a long time, staring at the ceiling. Looking at the bedside clock, you realized he'd been in the shower for over an hour. You stood, crossed the room, and tentatively knocked on the bathroom door. There was no answer. “Dean?” You knocked again, calling his name louder and louder. Nothing. You tried the knob. The door swung open.

 

The bathroom was steamy and the mirror was completely fogged up. His bloody clothes were in a pile right outside of the tub, his boots neatly lined up beside them. “Dean?” You stepped closer to the shower. He still wasn't answering. Shit. Was he okay? He'd seemed really out of it, and you weren't entirely sure he was mentally stable. “Dean?!” You raised your voice, to make certain he knew you were there. Still nothing. You took a deep breath, and timidly drew back the cheap blue and white striped shower curtain, afraid of what you might find.

 

You let out a pent up sigh. He wasn't dead on the floor of the shower. His back was to you, his arms bracing himself against the wall of the shower, letting the water run over his face and muscular shoulders. You did your best not to let your eyes travel any lower than his torso- he was obviously in distress and now was not the time to be a pervert. “Dean?” You tried again. He turned his head towards you slightly, dropping his arms from the wall. His hand went to his right arm, to a mark on the inside of his elbow. He rubbed it absentmindedly. He looked at you, eyes glazed over.

 

“I couldn't stop.” He shook his head. “I couldn't stop, Y/N.”

 

“I know, Dean. You keep saying that.”

 

“I would have killed them.”

 

“Why?”

 

He shrugged. “Because I wanted to.” The look he gave you then was the most heartbreaking look you'd ever seen. This was a man you'd just seen almost murder a handful of large men in a bar fight. Now he was just... broken. You really weren't sure what to do. Fucking shit up was your thing, not fixing it.

 

You sighed. _What the fuck_ , you thought to yourself. _This man needs some help_. You stepped into the shower next to him, still fully clothed. He stared at you blankly, still rubbing the mark on his arm, but moved over to make room for you. As the water poured over you, soaking through your layers of clothes, you wrapped your arms around him. You weren't sure what else to do, but you were sure glad when you felt his arms come up and wrap around your back, snaking their way up to your shoulders. You stood there, soaking wet, with Dean, for a long time. You were pretty sure he was in shock.

 

* * *

 

An hour later, Dean was fast asleep. He hadn't said much, but you'd eventually coaxed him out of the shower, gotten him to put some clothes on, and gotten him into bed. You'd changed into dry clothes, and when you were sure he was asleep, you grabbed your phone and the keys to the car, and went and sat in it to call Sam.

 

The phone rang exactly once before he picked up.

 

“Y/N. What happened? Tell me everything.” Sam sounded concerned. You told him the whole story, top to bottom.

 

“So I just spent the last hour in the fucking shower with your brother-”

 

“Oh my God. I didn't need to know that Y/N.”

 

“Not like that! He was practically in shock after nearly killing those guys. He would barely respond! I was just... hugging him. And I am _not_ a huggy type of girl.” You replied. “Jesus, Sam. I didn't sleep with your brother.”

 

“You wouldn't be the first.”

 

“Noted.” You replied dryly. “But seriously, what the fuck is going on? I mean, that guy totally deserved to get hit, but Dean went postal on five burly men, and they're all probably in the hospital right now. He only stopped because...”

 

“Because why?”

 

“Because I made him.” You sighed. “I asked him to. And even then, I was surprised he did.”

 

“Okay. He really should have told you this himself by now. And you need to ask him about it in the morning. But have you noticed the mark on his arm?” Sam asked you.

 

“The one that looks like a scar? That he keeps rubbing all the time?” You asked in return. “I saw it for the first time tonight.”

 

“That's the reason behind this. The whole problem. It's called the Mark of Cain.”

 

“Cain as in Cain and Able? Cain as in the first murder? The original gangster? That Cain?” You gulped.

 

“Yes. That Cain. And it's exactly as bad as it sounds.” Sam's solemn voice echoed in your ears. _Fuck._

 

 


	3. Cuts Like a Knife

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Imagine being Dean’s temporary hunting partner and forcing him to explain the Mark of Cain to you.

The next morning when you woke up, Dean’s bed was empty. You’d spoken to Sam for a long time the night before and pretty much knew the whole story- and now you were more than worried about your new hunting partner. You threw back the covers, made a cursory check of the motel room, and realized he wasn’t there.  _Where the hell could he be_?

You noticed the little red light flashing on your cell; you picked it up and flicked on the screen. You had a text.  _At the diner across the street. Didn’t want to wake you. -Dean._

You got dressed, pulled on a light jacket for the early fall weather, and made your way to the small, ramshackle diner. Dean was in the last booth way in the back, a huge plate of bacon and eggs in front of him. You slid into the seat across from him. He continued to eat. You looked at him coolly. He finally glanced up at you, raising his eyebrows.

“Morning?” He said, more of a question than a statement.

“That’s it?”

“Morning Sunshine?”

You rolled your eyes. Before you could get into it, the waitress approached. You ordered coffee and toast, and when she’d gone, you returned your gaze to Dean. He shifted uncomfortably.

“You wanna tell me about the Mark?” You pursed your lips together.

“Not really.” He leaned back in his seat, looking down his nose at you.

“You are so stubborn!” You huffed at him.

“Yeah, well…” he paused for a second. “You wear too much floral print!”

You squinted at him. “That makes no sense.”

He shrugged. “Whatever. I don’t want to talk about the Mark.”

“How about you tell me anyways? You don’t have to explain much. Sam filled me in on most of it.” You regarded him with the same distant look he was giving you.

“When did you talk to Sam?”

“Last night after you went to sleep. He told me everything.” You set your elbows on the table, leaning forward for emphasis. “He was under the impression that you’d already shared this particular information with me. Like exactly why we’re going after Crowley. And how by you saying I could “ _keep you in line_ ” you really meant “ _keep you from going on a murder spree_.”

His eyes darkened. He stared at you coldly for a long time. You’d apparently upset him enough to make him forget that he had a plate full of bacon, and even though you’d only known him a week, you knew that was odd. Finally he began nodding slowly. “So you ran off and talked to my little brother behind my back.”

“What the hell else was I supposed to do, Dean? You nearly killed a bar full of guys! Then you stopped talking and went into shock. I had to drag you out of the shower.” You paused, thinking back to the night before, to the solid 45 minutes you’d spent fully clothed, soaking wet, holding him while he was naked and in shock in the aforementioned shower, not knowing what to do. You shook it off.

“You know what? I don’t have to put up with this shit.” He threw his napkin on the table along with a $20, got up, and stalked out of the diner. You sighed and followed. He was walking fast. You let him go. You caught up with him back at the motel. He was throwing things in his duffel, preparing to leave.

“We’re leaving now?” You asked.

“I am. I don’t know if you are. You can do whatever the hell you want.” He’d begun the process of shutting you out. After last night, you weren’t going to let that happen. You had a feeling that his sanity depended on you not letting him shut down again.

You gathered your things, went out to the car, threw your backpack into the back seat, and got in, slamming the door.

“Easy on the doors, Sweetheart. I’ll make you walk.” Dean growled as he got in his door and started the engine.

“Bullshit. Like hell you will.” You turned to him. “Your ass would be in jail right now if it weren’t for me, and there’d be five dead guys in the Jasper morgue. So you know what, knock this tough guy act off and start talking. Why the fuck didn’t you tell me about the Mark?”

He slammed his foot down on the gas and peeled out of the parking lot. “You wanna know about the Mark?” He looked over at you, eyes flashing like beacons. You hastily buckled your seat belt as he swerved onto the road and sped up. You nodded. “I agreed to take on this Mark so I could kill Abbadon. A Knight of Hell. Turns out, a regular old Demon Blade can’t kill those. Only the First Blade can kill her, and only the one bearing the Mark can use the First Blade. And she needed to be taken out.” He continued speeding down the road. “So I did what I had to do. I didn’t read the fine print.”

“You were the one who aced Abbadon?” You looked over at him, impressed.

He nodded. “That was all me, babe.”

“I should have figured it was a Winchester.”

You saw a faint hint of a smile cross his lips, but it was replaced by anger again very quickly. “Then I went after Metatron, so he’d quit fucking with everything and let everyone back into Heaven. Only he killed me. But the thing is, if you have the Mark, you don’t die. Not really, anyway.”

“You turned into a Demon and went carousing with Crowley for a few months.”

“You and Sam really did have a nice little chat, didn’t you?” Dean frowned.

“I wouldn’t have had to ask him if you’d been up front with me in the first place. This shit is kind of important to know. What if you’d gotten killed on one of our hunts? It would have been nice to know I’d have had a  _demon_  on my hands.” You scowled at him. “I didn’t sign up to be sliced and diced by my own partner.”

He seemed to give that some thought. “Fair enough.” He drove for several minutes in silence. “It’s not exactly something that’s a lot of fun to admit, you know. I was waiting for a good time to tell you.”

“There’s really not a good time for something like that.” You replied. “So if you and Crowley are such good pals, why are we after him? Sam didn’t tell me that part.”

Dean sighed. “We aren’t good pals. Crowley is a dick.” He’d stopped accelerating by now, and you were finally going something resembling the speed limit. “In order to get this Mark off of me, we need the First Blade. Crowley has it. And he won’t give it back. If I touch it, I kind of go insane. He’s afraid I’ll use it on him.”

“Will you?”

“Absolutely.”

“I can see where the problem is then…” You looked out the window at the trees passing along the roadside. “So this contact in Louisiana… knows where Crowley is or knows where the blade is?”

Dean slowed the car down and pulled to the side of the road. “You just learned all of that, and you’re  _still_  coming with me?”

You looked back at him. “Well,  _yeah_. I can’t let you go alone. If we find the First Blade, I can’t let  _you_  handle it. And Sam’s counting on me to keep you out of trouble.” You really didn’t know why the hell you weren’t running for the hills by now. You should have been. If you were smart, you’d be out of that Impala that instant, hitchhiking as far away as possible. But you weren’t going to. Something was making you stay. “And, you know, that’s what we hunters do. Stupid shit.”

Dean smiled at that last reason. “Yeah.” He chuckled. “Yeah, it is.”

_to be continued_


	4. There's No One Like You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Imagine you’re Dean’s replacement hunting partner, and you have to keep him from killing because of the Mark of Cain…

The ride to Baton Rouge was supposed to be a little over three hours long, and since Dean had gotten his temper in check and was driving the speed limit for the most part, you were due to arrive on time. His contact was a man named Tom Z, a recently paroled convict who claimed to have knowledge of Crowley's recent whereabouts. Sam had located him God-knows-how.

 

After your little spat about the Mark of Cain this morning, Dean was pretty much silent for the rest of the ride. You decided to just ignore it and let him stew in whatever bullshit he was thinking about. Clearly the Mark was a sore subject, but it had needed to be brought up and out in the open between the two of you. Without trust, a hunting duo would never work. Which was why, sad to say, you usually worked alone.

 

After three and a half hours, Dean pulled the Impala up in front of a ramshackle double-wide set far back from an old country gravel road. The property would have been beautiful, if it didn't have rusted out cars and engines strewn about the overgrown grass in the front yard and all among the trees. You turned in your seat. “What's the plan? You sure this isn't a trap?”

 

“Not at all. Could be.” Dean gave you a stern look. “Stay behind me. Keep alert. Make sure your weapons are easily accessible and-”

 

“Dean, this isn't my first rodeo. I've been doing this at least as long as you have.” You pulled your gun out of your knapsack, checked the magazine, and slid it into the inside pocket of your jacket beside the angel blade you kept hidden there. You also retrieved your demon knife, slipping it into your belt.

 

“You have a demon knife?” Dean asked you, looking a tad surprised.

 

You nodded. “Yeah... how else would I kill demons?” You didn't mention the bag full of demon-killing _bullets_ you also had, or the rest of your arsenal. Now wasn't the time to explain your particular kind of crazy to him, especially since he'd proven to be on the brink of becoming a spree killer at the drop of a hat. Best to keep the good weapons a secret for now.

 

“How did you get a demon knife?”

 

“How did you?”

 

“Sam had a demon girlfriend. Got it from her when we ganked her.”

 

“Oh yeah. Ruby.”

 

Dean rolled his eyes. “I forgot, you read the fucking books.”

 

You winked at him. “Every page, Mr. Double-mint Twins.”

 

“Oh what, did that interlude _surprise_ you?” His features twisted from embarrassment into that little half smile he used when he was flirting with a bartender.

 

“A little. I didn't realize you were-”

 

“So open minded?” He winked at you. You nodded. “Does that scare you?”

 

You shook your head. “Not at all. It takes a lot more than a general interest in human anatomy and abject promiscuity to scare me.” You smiled sweetly. “Though the fact that they're twins is a little weird.”

 

“ _I'm_ not related to em'.” He shrugged and swung himself out of the car. “Abject promiscuity huh? I kinda like the sound of that.”

 

“You would.”

 

You both approached the house. Dean motioned for you to circle around to the back door. You did, picking your way through the weeds and brambles, and old car and tractor parts, and stood next to the other door, ready to pounce should mister Tom Z. come darting out. You heard Dean's fist knocking on the opposite door, practically shaking the entire residence. Footsteps, then a door opening, and some muted voices. Then footsteps in your direction, and suddenly the back door was open and Dean was peering out at you. “Come in. He's here and he ain't running.”

 

You entered the house. Tom was a scrawny man in his mid twenties with an unfortunate comb-over. He wore a striped bathrobe and house shoes. He led you both into the living room, moved a stack of newspapers off of the sofa, and motioned for you to sit. You did, but stayed diligent. Dean opted to stand.

 

“I thought you were coming alone, man.” Tom was jittery, his eyes darting around.

 

“I never said I was coming alone.” Dean rocked back on his heels.

 

“Yeah, but I assumed. I wasn't planning on company.”

 

“You could have told me this over the phone, and you wouldn't have had to have any company.” Dean continued to stare evenly at Tom, a stern expression on his face.

 

Tom was freaking out. You were beginning to worry a little bit about Tom. Why was he so freaked out? I mean, sure, he was selling out the King of Hell to a Winchester, which probably wouldn't end well for him, but he'd decided to do that days ago. Why was he so freaked now?

 

Tom started shaking his head. “No. No man, I can't.”

 

Dean glared at him. “You can't what?”

 

“I can't tell you. I changed my mind.” Tom continued to shake his head, beginning to pace. “I changed my mind. Crowley will torture me if I rat him out. I can't tell you.”

 

“You _do_ realize that when I find him, I'm going to kill him, right?” Dean was on edge as he slowly explained this concept to Tom. You could see the anger rising in Dean's face. “You won't have to worry about being tortured.” You knew this was technically untrue, but Tom did not. If Dean killed Crowley, Tom wouldn't have to worry about Crowley torturing him... but another demon would no doubt find him. But you'd checked Tom's rap sheet. With what he'd been in prison for, you really didn't give a shit about selling him down the river.

 

Tom just kept shaking his head. “No. No. Sorry. You guys gotta leave now.”

 

You looked worriedly at Dean. He looked like he was going to blow his top. He took two short strides towards Tom, pulling his knife out as he went, and quickly had him by the hair, blade to his throat.

 

“What the fuck man? What're you doing?!” Tom cried out, trying to pry Dean's fingers from the knife.

 

“You have two choices here, ass hat. You tell me where Crowley is, or I give you a Colombian Necktie.” Dean's voice was low, and you could see the same look moving into his eyes that you'd seen at the bar. You stood up.

 

“No.” You approached them. They both stopped and looked at you.

 

“ _No?!_ ” Dean raised both eyebrows at you.

 

“No.” You shook your head. “You're off of killing for the time being, remember?” You gave Dean a stern look. He returned the look blankly. “ _Remember?_ ”

 

He sighed, letting go of Tom, and tossing the knife to you. “Fuck. Whatever.” He stepped back and crossed his arms over his chest. “How do _you_ propose we get information out of this twat, then?”

 

You looked at Dean smugly, a smile spreading across your lips. You turned to Tom, who looked relieved. He wasn't relieved for long. You quickly had him in the same position Dean had, by the hair, knife to his throat. “Unfortunately for you, Tom, _I'm not on hiatus from killing._ So I suggest you talk, and talk quickly, before I get bored.”

 

“Fuck.” Tom squeaked. Then he peed his pants.

 

“Fucking really?” You looked at him.

 

“Gross, dude.” Dean looked disgusted.

 

“I can't help it!” Tom yelped as you moved the blade closer to his throat. “Okay okay okay!!!” He took a deep breath. “I just got out of the slammer last week. And while I was in there, Crowley came to visit my cellmate. Said he'd be looking forward to seeing him once he was out.”

 

“When does he get out?” Dean stepped in front of Tom.

 

“He gets out tomorrow. He lives in New Orleans. But I know where they're meeting. Crowley is going to have Big Ed do odd jobs for him, and they're gonna meet up at a tavern called Ellis's. First meeting is the Thursday after he gets out. Crowley said he'd show him a good time. Something about “Howling at the Moon.”

 

Dean snorted. “I've heard that line before.”

 

Tom looked at Dean, confusion on his face.

 

“Crowley and Dean used to be homeboys.” You told him, as if that explained everything. “I hear they howled at that moon quite a lot.”

 

“Jesus, Y/N, too much information for the squealer.” Dean frowned. “Tom, is there anything else you can tell us? A time maybe?”

 

Tom shook his head. “No. Never got that. Sorry.” He was getting frantic. You removed the knife and pushed him away from you. He rubbed his neck tenderly.

 

“You've been very helpful, Tom. Now go get cleaned up. You smell like piss.” You handed Dean's knife back to him. “Oh, and Tom. I know why you were in prison. If you ever beat a woman again, don't even worry about going back. I'll find you. And I will end you.” You turned on your heel, and stalked out the door.

 

Dean smiled at Tom. “I may be off of killing for now, Tom, but I can honestly say, I'll be right there with her if that happens.” He put his hands in his pockets and followed you out the door.

 

You both climbed into the Impala. You buckled up, then realized Dean wasn't starting the car. “What's up? You leave something in there?” you asked, turning to him. He was just looking at you. He held your gaze for a second more, then snapped out of it and turned the key in the ignition.

 

“Nah. I was just thinking how barbaric you were in there.” His voice was low. You thought he sounded kind of turned on.

 

“Well, I couldn't very well let you do it. We'd have a dead Tom on our hands and no Crowley info.”

 

“You're right. But I just meant, it was pretty awesome.” He backed down the overgrown driveway. “ _You_ were pretty awesome.”

 

You smiled, and felt a blush creeping up to your cheeks. _What the hell?_ You pushed the blush away. “I try.” You replied nonchalantly.

 

Dean pulled out onto the road, turned on the radio, and, glancing at you, reached over and tucked a piece of hair behind your ear. You looked at him oddly. It wasn't that you minded. But... he'd been a silent dick all morning, and now he was playing with your hair? _What the fuck?_

 

“You probably saved my ass. Again. So, thanks.” He dropped his hand back down beside him, and focused once again on the road.

 

You peered at Dean. “So once we find Crowley, how long do you think it'll be before a couple demons show up at Tom's door?”

 

Dean shrugged. “About three minutes.” He pushed the gas pedal down, accelerating on the open highway. “Couldn't happen to a better man.”

 

You chuckled as the two of you drove off. You had two days to kill before you needed to be at Ellis's Bar in New Orleans, looking for Crowley and Big Ed.

* * *

 

That night, the motel you checked into happened to be right next door to an old country bar, and the sign on the door said it was “Eighties Night.” Naturally, Dean insisted the two of you go and celebrate.

 

“What exactly are we celebrating?” You sighed, rolling off of your bed and pulling your boots back on. “We didn't hunt anything. It's not a hunt well-done.”

 

“An... interview well done?” Dean smiled, pulling on a wrinkled button up over his tight fitting Henley shirt. His hair was damp- he'd just gotten out of the shower.

 

“I guess. If you call threatening to kill a man and him peeing all over the place an “interview.” You stood up and stretched, and you both walked over to the bar.

 

It was smokey and crowded, and the speakers were blasting classic rock, mostly hair band music and power ballads. You saw Dean's eyes light up like it was Christmas morning. “Awesome.” He whispered under his breath. He led you to the bar, ordered a couple of shots, and soon you were both giggling about Tom peeing his pants.

 

“You literally scared the piss out of that guy.” Dean laughed, knocking back another whiskey.

 

“Serves him right. That's one bad dude.” You tossed yours back as well, squinting as it burned all the way down your throat. When you opened your eyes, you realized that Dean's eyes were fixed on you, not on the super hot bartender with the extreme cleavage. You thought back. He hadn't even glanced her way the entire night. That was weird. Even you'd checked her out a few times, because, why the hell not?

 

Feeling his eyes on you and your face growing red, you excused yourself, hastily made your way to the bathroom, and splashed some cold water on your face. What was happening? One minute, Dean Winchester was stone faced and silent, the next he was beating the shit out of groups of people in bars, and the next he was staring at you like you were a fucking unicorn made of magic and sparkles. _This Mark of Cain must really be fucking with him_ , you thought to yourself.

 

You made your way back out of the restroom, across the dance floor. The DJ had slowed it down, and “Wind of Change” was playing. The dance floor was crowded. You scanned the bar. Dean wasn't where you'd left him. You glanced around, half worried you'd find him in an altercation with someone and on the brink of murder. He appeared in front of you, holding a beer out to you.

 

“Hey.” You took the beer from him. “Thanks.”

 

“Don't mention it.” He nodded. “Great song.”

 

“Yeah...” You agreed, you did like the song. “Um, are we gonna go sit down?”

 

“I kind of felt like dancing.” He looked down at you. You raised your brows. Dean felt like dancing. You _did not_ see that one coming. “If you want to. I mean, we can't pass up this song, right?”

 

“Uh, I guess not.” You stepped closer to him, putting one arm around his broad shoulders, holding your beer in the other hand. He circled his arms around your waist. “I mean, it is a classic.”

 

“Exactly.”

 

“But... you don’t strike me as the dancing type.” 

“I’m going zen. Trying new things. Relaxing.” He pulled you slightly closer against him.

“Says the guy who just drank four double whiskey shots at the bar...”

 

The song was half over. And as weird as it was that _Dean Winchester was in the mood to dance_ , of all things, it wasn't unenjoyable. His arms felt nice around you; it was pleasant to be so close and it not be a situation where things were dire and he was shutting down.

 

“You were really awesome earlier.” He told you.

 

You felt the blush creeping up again. _God damn it. You were not a girl who blushed._ “Thanks.” You grinned sheepishly. “You would've handled it, except for the possibility of-”

 

“A murder spree.” Dean's breath was hot on your ear. “I know.” He was looking deep into your eyes, his lips hovering a mere two inches from yours. “We wouldn't want to let that happen.”

 

You closed your eyes, swaying to the music. “No. That'd be bad.” You agreed. You felt him lean in when all of a sudden-

 

“And we're going to start our Power Ballad Karaoke Contest! Our first contestants are... Dean and Y/N!” The DJ's voice rang out over the mic as the music faded.

 

Your eyes flew open. The moment was over. You looked at Dean. “You signed us up for a Karaoke contest?”

 

Dean nodded, smiling widely, his teeth gleaming.

 

“Dean, I'm going to fucking kill you.”

* * *

 

_to be continued_

 


	5. Sympathy for the Devil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Imagine trying to catch Crowley- and things going horribly awry.

“Dean, this isn't going to work.” You called from the bathroom, through the door that was just cracked open to let the steam out from the shower you'd just taken. You were looking in the mirror. Your knapsack of clothes was perched on the counter top, and all of the clothes you'd brought were strewn around the room.

 

“What's not going to work?” Dean asked, opening the door and peering in.

 

“God damn it, Dean!” You yelled at him, whirling around. “Don't you ever knock?” You were standing in the middle of the bathroom in a sport bra and leggings, but for all he knew, you could have been naked.

 

“Shit, sorry!” He quickly retreated, but not before giving you the once over. His hasty retreat was met with a shoe being thrown at the door, narrowly missing where his head had just been. “But seriously, what's not gonna work?”

 

“You want me to sweet talk Crowley, since he doesn't know me... I have absolutely nothing in my backpack to wear to a bar to pick up on the King of Hell.” You frowned and looked through your clothes again. A few pairs of jeans, a pair of cut off shorts, a hoodie, a few flannels, and a couple of floral tunics. All things you'd wear on a hunt, in various stages of disrepair. “He's not gonna buy it if I show up looking like a hobo hippie lumberjack.”

 

“What about that flowered shit you always wear?” His voice called through the door.

 

“A tunic doesn't exactly scream “I'm hot please try to have your way with me.” You replied dryly.

 

“I never noticed.”

 

“You try to have your way with anything that'll talk to you.”

 

“That is _not_ true.” You heard him reply through the door. “Okay it might be true.”

 

You sighed, sitting on the edge of the tub. You caught sight of the edge of a red patent leather belt peeking out of your bag. Why did you even have that gaudy thing with you? What could you pair it with. “Dean?” You called out.

 

“Yeah?” You could hear him still just outside the door.

 

“Can I borrow one of your Henley shirts? The... grey one. Yeah. The grey one.”

 

“Princess, I'm wearing the grey one.”

 

“Well, you aren't anymore. I need it.”

* * *

 

An hour later, you were perched at the bar at Ellis's, wearing Dean's grey Henley, which was a little long on you, the red belt cinched high around your waist, and a tight pair of black leggings, with the only heels you had with you. You'd tarted yourself up with the brightest whore-red lipstick you could find at the local drugstore, and enough mascara to paint a car with. When you'd come out of the bathroom earlier, Dean had almost fallen over.

 

“Jesus, Y/N, the whole fucking bar is gonna be after you. Crowley doesn't stand a chance.” Dean looked shocked.

 

“Since he's the King of Hell, I'm assuming he's somewhat of an arrogant asshole.” You slunk over to the bed and pulled on your heels.

 

Dean watched you. “ _You would be correct._ ”

 

“Then an entire bar watching me will just make him _more_ interested.” You took a deep breath. “You'd better not let him take me. This plan had _better_ work.” You stood, hands on hips, and gave Dean a very serious look. “I'm _not_ planning on hanging out with Crowley any longer than I have to.”

 

Dean approached you, until he was very close. The air became thick with tension. He reached out and took your hand, and placed a pair of handcuffs in your palm. “Slap these on him, and he won't be going anywhere.” He told you. “I have a pair also. All you have to do is distract him long enough for me to cuff him, but in case I get attacked by some of his goons, you can do the dirty work.” He looked at you glibly. “I'm assuming you know how handcuffs work.”

 

“God you are such an asshole.” You smirked at him.

* * *

 

It had been two hours. You were on your third martini. So far, no Crowley. And No Big Ed. You'd found his mug shot online. Big Ed, or Edward Castor Junior, was a large Samoan man in prison for assault with a deadly weapon and car theft. Or rather, he had been in prison until yesterday. You sighed. You looked around for Dean. True to his word, he was staying hidden. Any sign of him, and Crowley would bounce, for sure.

 

You were beginning to give up, sure that you'd been had and Tom had lied to you, when you saw Big Ed amble through the door and head to a table in the back. A few moments later, a small man appeared at the table across from him. _That must be Crowley_ , you thought to yourself. He matched the description that Dean had given you. You tilted your head, observing the man. He wasn't exactly what you'd pictured the King of Hell to look like. He looked more like a guy who insured artwork for museums or something. He was stout with a face that seemed almost jovial. At one point, he looked up from the conversation, and caught your gaze. You smiled and winked, then turned away and went back to your martini.

 

“ _Baited_.” You texted to Dean, wherever he was. You knew he was watching from somewhere.

* * *

 

Dean grimaced from his perch on top of one of the dumpsters outside of the bar. From where he was currently sitting, he could see in a high window and survey the entire bar, keeping an eye out for Crowley, Big Ed, and Y/N. He'd been there for a few hours. His back hurt, his knees hurt, and he was really not enjoying being in such close proximity to garbage.

 

He grumbled as yet another drunk guy approached Y/N. He watched her giggle, playfully put her hand on his arm, and eventually shoo him away. He had lost count by now. Was that seven or eight guys who'd come up to hit on her? He was pretty sure it was eight. And it was pissing him off, even though he wasn't sure why. He knew he needed to keep his head in the game. Plus, Y/N wasn't his type. Sure, she was pretty, but she was ruthless and she was bossy and she refused to put up with his bullshit to the point of it being annoying...

 

Dean shook his head to clear his thoughts. He checked his back pocket again, for the umpteenth time, to make sure he had his demon cuffs and demon knife in there. He did, of course. He looked back in the window. “ _Well hello there_.” He whispered to himself. Big Ed had just walked in the door and settled into a back booth, where Crowley appeared out of thin air. He watched them speak for a while, and Crowley pull out one of his ridiculously long contracts. Dean sighed. It was going to take a while for this meeting to be over if a contract was involved.

 

His phone buzzed in his pocket and he checked his messages. “ _Baited._ ” Was all it said. A text from Y/N. He guess she must have caught Crowley's attention from across the bar. Dean could imagine it wouldn't have been that hard. She was beautiful anyways, but tonight she looked like a cross between the prom queen and a painted whore. She was playing her role perfectly. He hated for that to have to be her role in this operation- it seemed sexist and a little beneath her, playing the honey-trap. But she had actually suggested the plan. _His_ plan had consisted of waiting for Crowley to show up, running in, and jumping on him. She had gently reminded him that the Mark might be clouding his judgment _just a tad._

 

He peered back in the window at Y/N. To be perfectly honest, the view of her in his Henley shirt was driving him crazy. She just looked so damned good in it. He rubbed absentmindedly at the mark on his arm. He really needed to get his shit together.

 

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Big Ed signed the contract, Crowley rolled it up and put it in his pocket, they shook hands, and Big Ed stood to leave. Crowley then appeared to pop a breath mint, and approach Y/N. “Game time.” Dean said to himself, sliding down off of the dumpster and heading to the back door of the bar.

 

* * *

“And what's a nice girl like you doing in a place like this?” You heard a rather appealing Scottish accent begin to speak behind you. You turned around on your bar stool, martini in hand, and smiled coyly at the man in black who stood before you.

 

“Just enjoying a Thursday night, sugar.” You winked at him. “What's a well dressed man like yourself doing here?” You patted the stool next to you, beckoning him to join you.

 

“Business meeting.” He settled down on the stool, signaling the bartender. “But it's over now. And I couldn't help noticing you from all the way over there. I couldn't leave without saying hello.” He had his head tilted slightly back, a small smile on his face. The bartender approached. “Two dirty martinis, love. The dirtier, the better.”

 

You giggled, as if his innuendo were the funniest thing you had ever heard. “Are you from around here?” You asked, scooting your stool a bit closer to him. You noticed the back door to the bar open behind him, and Dean appeared, trying to stay hidden behind bar patrons.

 

“Not remotely, no.” Crowley nodded as the bartender brought your drinks. He leaned in towards you. “A toast, to the most beautiful woman at the bar.”

 

You smiled and playfully smacked his arm. “Oh, you're too sweet.” You clinked glasses.

 

“Are you from around here?” He asked, leaning ever closer.

 

You shook your head. “Just passing through. Business, really.”

 

“Ah. But it's past working hours. So it's time for... pleasure.” Crowley smiled at you, and you noted that although he was the King of Hell, his smile wasn't altogether unpleasant. You smiled back, but all of a sudden, he stopped grinning. He sniffed the air.

 

You gave him a confused look. “Um, what are you doing?”

 

“I smell Dean Winchester on you.” He pushed back from you quickly. You reached into your bag for your cuffs, pulling them out in a flash. “Seriously, love, Dean Winchester gets around. You bagged him and then came after me?!” Crowley was furious and amused at the same time.

 

“I'm wearing his shirt, dickhead. I didn't fuck him before a hunt.” You grabbed for his wrist, but he was too fast. Embarrassingly, you found your own wrists handcuffed together. _Shit._

 

“ _You're good, love, but I'm Crowley.”_ He whirled around, just as Dean was about to jump on him. “You're way too slow Dean.” He held out his hand, and Dean ceased to move. He easily flung him against the back of the bar, shattering bottles of alcohol. People screamed and ran from the building. “Lovely hunting partner you have here, though. Much prettier than Moose.”

 

You all heard a shotgun being cocked, and turned. The bartender had it pointed at Crowley. “Time to jet.” Crowley said, snapped his fingers, and disappeared in a cloud of black smoke.

 

“Son of a bitch.” Dean climbed up from behind the bar. His forehead was dripping blood from the glass bottles. He wiped it away absentmindedly, and surveyed the mess. The bartender was glaring at him. “Sorry man. That guy's a dick. I hope you have insurance.” He grabbed you by one of your handcuffed hands, and dragged you out of the bar.

* * *

 

“How the hell did you manage to get yourself handcuffed?” Dean asked you later that night, an amused smiled on his face. He sat across from you on your bed, diligently picking the locks on the demon cuffs that currently held your wrists together.

 

“I don't know. It all happened really fast.” You scowled. “Don't give me shit, okay? It could have happened to anyone.”

 

“ _Right._ Because I often find myself locked in my own handcuffs.” He looked at you, amused. “What tipped him off, anyway? You seemed like you were playing your part pretty damned well. Even I was buying the whole “bar floozy” bit.”

 

“Gee, thanks.” You sighed in relief as one of the cuffs came off. “He smelled you. On me.”

 

Dean gave you a confused look. “Come again?”

 

“Your shirt. He smelled you on me because I was wearing your shirt.” You shook your head. “He made some pretty rude comments about your sexual reputation and why I probably smelled like you, cuffed me, and you know the rest.”

 

Dean ran a hand through his hair, and went to work on the other cuff. “Princess, probably whatever he said about my reputation is true.”

 

“I'm sure it is. We're hunters, Dean. We aren't exactly known for our discretion.” You paused. “Except for Sam. That guy's a fucking saint.”

 

“Yeah, well his whole “soulless” phase wasn't in those smutty books you love so much. Sam hasn't done too badly for himself.”

 

“Good. I was beginning to worry about the guy being lonely.” You smiled as the other cuff came off, and you rubbed your wrists. Crowley had put those suckers on tight. “So what's the plan now? We fucking lost Crowley, and now he knows we're after him, _and_ he knows what I look like.”

 

Dean sighed. “We wait for another tip from Sam and Cas. They'll come through. Sam's a lot better at research than he is at getting laid.”

 

_to be continued_

 


	6. Heart of Stone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You reluctantly help Dean catch a crossroads demon to interrogate in hopes of information on Crowley.

“Wake up. Psst. Y/N. Wake up.” Dean's voice was whispering in your ear, and he was gently nudging your shoulder. You rolled away from him and pushed his hand from you.

 

“Go away.” You mumbled into your pillow.

 

He climbed up on your bed and started shaking you harder. “No, seriously, wake up. I know how to find Crowley.”

 

You sighed and rolled towards him. He was straddling the side of your bed, his knees pressed into your side uncomfortably. You'd gone to bed early and been asleep for hours, but he didn't look like he'd even touched his bed. He was still fully clothed, and smelled faintly of whiskey. “What time is it?”

 

“It's a little past eleven, so we'd better hurry. I already have all of the stuff we'll need. And I scouted out a good location.” He moved off of your bed, and started putting random objects into a knapsack.

 

“Stuff we'll need? Good location?” You sat up and turned on your bedside lamp. “ _For what?_ ”

 

He turned towards you, an ominous look on his handsome face. “For kidnapping a crossroads demon, of course. I can't believe I didn't think of it earlier.”

* * *

 

You hastily pulled on some real clothes and followed Dean out to the Impala. He was a man on a mission. “We're going to kidnap a crossroads demon? _Tonight?_ ”

 

“Sam hasn't come up with any leads.”

 

“Dean, it's been _a day_ since Crowley got away from us. Give Sam some time.” You watched Dean climb into the driver's seat, sighed, and likewise climbed into the passenger side. He handed you his knapsack, and a box filled with the necessary items for a proper summoning. “No crossroads demon in their right mind is going to come when you call... so I'm assuming I'm the one who's doing the little song-and-dance tonight.” You turned to him questioningly.

 

“Bingo.” He nodded, starting the car. “Hopefully, your name hasn't gotten around “Hell's Most Wanted” yet.” He put the car in drive and started speeding down the road, heading to a more rural part of town. Louisiana was beautiful this time of year, and at this time of night, but you weren't thrilled about what you were about to do, and so you were mostly ignoring the passing scenery and the drooping live oaks. “We'll trap whoever comes, and if they won't talk, cuff them and take them somewhere where we can make them talk.” He had his eyes on the road. A hard look had come over him and he spoke of torture matter-of-factly. You knew about his time in Hell and what he'd done there, but you weren't prepared for such frankness.

 

“I'm not torturing anyone for information, Dean.” You replied firmly.

 

“You were ready to slit ol' Tom's throat back in Baton Rouge, killer.” He slid his eyes over in your direction, waiting for a reaction.

 

“Threatening to kill a guy, and even killing, is a lot different than torture.” You shook your head. “I'm drawing the line. I have to draw the line somewhere.”

 

“Fair enough. I don't have a problem poking a few holes in a demon for the right price.” His eyes were back on the road, and the edge was back in his voice. You closed your eyes. The laughing, joking Dean from the night before was gone; the soft, slightly drunk, dancing to power ballads Dean from a few nights ago was gone, too. He'd been replaced by a stone cold killer, again. Your only solace was that this time, he was going after demons, and hopefully, whatever information he got out of them would put an end to all of this. You couldn't take much more of this back-and-forth.

 

After about ten minutes, he pulled off of the road, and you walked the rest of the way to an old, gravelly crossroads. You spray painted a Devil's Trap in the middle of the road, buried the box while Dean hid in the bushes by the side of the road, and waited. You didn't wait long. A sultry voice behind you shocked you out of your thoughts. You turned around to find a tall woman in a tight black dress, with waist length black hair, standing in the middle of the trap. She hadn't noticed the trap yet.

 

“Can I help you with something, honey?” Her words dripped with sweetness, contrasting heavily with what you knew she was and what you knew she was after.

 

“Not anymore.” You took a few steps towards her. She gave you a questioning look and you pointed at the ground. “I got what I came for.”

 

“God damn it.” The demon swore under her breath and kicked at the dirt. “This job should have hazard pay, I swear to God.”

 

“You're probably right about that.” You agreed. “So listen. There's a guy who's gonna come ask you some questions. I'd answer them if I were you, because if not, he's gonna get medieval on your ass. If you tell him what he wants to know, I'll make sure he just kills you nice and quick.”

 

She stared at me like I had two heads. “That's a really shitty bargain, honey.”

 

You shrugged. “It's the best I can do. You really don't want to fuck with this guy.” You were going to continue, but the color had drained from her face and she was looking at someone approaching over your shoulder.

 

“Holy shit. It's Dean Winchester.” She looked at you frantically. “You have to let me out. Girl, I swear. I'll give you anything you want. Just let me go. Do NOT let that monster get to me.”

 

“No deal, Sweetheart.” Dean sauntered up, eyes glazed over, demon cuffs in one hand and his demon blade in the other. “You and I are gonna have a little chat about your boss.”

 

“About Tony?” The demon looked confused.

 

“No, not about Tony.” Dean sighed. “Think bigger. Think _Crowley_.” The demon drew in a sharp breath. “That's more like it. I take it you know something about him.”

 

“Not really, no. I never see Crowley. I just work this crap crossroads sales gig. My numbers aren't even that good.” She had wrapped her arms around herself now. “I honestly can't help you.”

 

Dean stepped closer to her. “Well if you can't, I'm gonna need someone who can.” He looked down at her, touching the blade gently to her cheek. You shivered. He was so calculated about the whole thing. “Think you can do that for me?” Dean spoke softly yet menacingly.

 

“Are you gonna let me go?”

 

“Sure.”

 

“I have your word?”

 

“Of course.”

 

Surprisingly, the demon whipped out a glittery purple cell phone. She hit a button, and waited while it rang a few times. “Yeah, Tony. I'm out on a sales call. I need some help with a few details... No, I know you hate to be bothered... Listen, you want this soul or not? Yeah. I'm at this dump crossroads in New Orleans. Bates and Hawkish. Hurry up, the buyer's getting cold feet.” She hung up, sliding the phone back in her purse. She looked from Dean to myself. “What?”

 

“I just didn't realize you all communicated with cell phones.” You said.

 

“That whole blood-bowl thing is gross, and super inconvenient. Speed dial works better.” She shrugged, then turned to Dean. “So can I go now?”

 

He grinned at her. “Sure thing, Princess.” She looked relieved. Up until he sunk the demon blade into her chest. Her whole body flickered orange, and she dropped to the ground.

 

It wasn't ten seconds later that Tony appeared. He was a tall Italian Demon in a snappy suit and wingtip shoes, hair slicked back. He had, unfortunately for himself, leapt into the Devil's Trap as well. He took one look at the scenario before him, and muttered one word. “Shit.”

 

“Shit's right, buddy. You just stepped into a whole pile of it.” Dean leaned back, taking a good look at Tony. “Listen, I need to know where Crowley is, and you're going to tell me, or you'll end up like your little friend over there.” He waved his knife towards the dead demon.

 

“That's bullshit and you know it. If I tell you where he is, you'll kill me. And if _you_ don't, _he'll_ kill me.” Tony was glaring angrily at Dean. Dean shrugged and chuckled. “What's so funny?”

 

“I have ways of making you talk.” Dean approached Tony. Tony backed away, until he was against the side of the trap and had nowhere else to go. He moved to start to fight, to swing at Dean, but you'd moved around behind him. Before he knew what was going on, your pair of cuffs were on him. He wasn't going anywhere, and now you could take him with you.

 

Dean grabbed him by the arm and led him roughly to the car, opened the trunk, and tossed him inside. He slammed the lid closed.

 

“Where are we taking him?” You asked, getting into the car.

 

“There's an abandoned warehouse a few miles away.”

 

“Don't you think someone will come looking for him?”

 

“Probably. I'll need you to keep watch.”

 

“Great.”

* * *

 

The warehouse was big, dark, and empty. You left Tony stewing in the trunk, and went with Dean inside. He found a chair to tie Tony to, and painted a new Devil's trap on the floor of a large room, one of the few rooms that still had a working doorknob and lock on it.

 

“I still don't like this plan, Dean.” You said, standing back as he put the finishing touches on the Devil's Trap. “It seems barbaric.”

 

“Like nothing you've ever done has been barbaric.” He glared at you harshly. “Remember, there may not be books written about you, but I know just as much about your hunting exploits as you do about mine.”

 

“Since when did you turn into such a dick? I'm not the enemy here!” You fired back at him.

 

He was quiet for a minute. “Listen, Y/N. It's not like I enjoy torture. But this _thing, this Mark_ , on my arm. I need to get rid of it. It's turning me into a _monster_ , and one of these days, I won't be able to fight it off. One of these days, _soon_ , not Sammy, not Cas, _not even you_ , will be able to save me from myself. So tonight, I have to do what I have to do. And I'm sorry, but you have to stay out of my way and let me do it.” His eyes had returned to normal, the harshness replaced with a deep seated sadness. You gulped, and nodded.

 

“Okay.” You nodded again. “You do what you have to do. I'll keep watch.” You turned to leave. Dean reached out at the last minute and grasped you gently, turning you back around. He put his hands on your forearms, and you both stood silently for a moment. Then he bent slightly and kissed you on the forehead.

 

“Be careful.” His eyes were glazing over with violence again.

 

“I will.”

* * *

 

You paced the hallway. Dean had been in that room with Tony for an hour, and as far as you could tell, Tony was holding out. You grimaced as you heard another scream, and Dean yelling something unintelligible. As many monsters as you had killed, as many Demons as you had murdered, as many evil humans as you might have helped to their deaths... this was something that was going to haunt you, and you knew it. You usually slept like a baby at night. Not anymore. Tony's screams would stay with you.

 

The minutes ticked by, turning to hours. The screams were grating on your nerves. You were tired. Your whole body felt electrified and raw at the same time. You paced some more. Then you heard it. There were sounds from outside. You pressed yourself up against a window and leaned slightly to the left, looking out into the night. You couldn't see anything except the Impala parked a few feet from the door.

 

A door scraping open down the hall caught your attention, and you dropped to the floor. Two dark forms entered. They weren't using flashlights; you assumed they were Demons. “Tony?” one of them called out.

 

“Shh.” The other one hissed at the first. “Don't be a fucking idiot, Chris.” They both headed towards where you were crouched down. You had your demon knife, but since the original plan had been to kidnap _one crossroads demon,_ you didn't have your gun with the special bullets. It was you against two Demons, and no way to alert Dean without giving yourself away.

 

You waited, willing yourself to breathe shallowly, until they were only a few feet away. Then you tossed a small pebble in the opposite direction. When they both turned towards the noise, you leapt on the back of the closest one, jamming your knife into the side of their neck. The Demon flashed orange and dropped, you on top of him. You were back up in a flash, hightailing it through the room. You pounded on the door where Dean was, but had no time to shout a warning. You kept running, cutting through to a narrow hallway. Suddenly your feet were swept up from under you and you were being thrown up against the side of the hallway. You crash landed on the ground, the other Demon stalking up close to you.

 

“That was a stupid move, honey.” He knelt down in front of you. You had hit your head, and you shook it, trying to stop seeing double. “Where's Tony?”

 

You laughed. “He's in the other room with my friend. And he's not getting out.” The Demon didn't find this very amusing, and he grabbed you by your throat and picked you up, pressing you against the wall. You reached up and tried to pry his fingers from your neck, but he was strong, much stronger than you were. You could feel consciousness starting to slip. The hallway here was very, very narrow. You somehow got your foot up between yourself and the Demon, up, up, up, until the sole of your boot was against his neck, and straightened your leg until he was pushed against the opposite wall. Now you were choking him as well. You knew he didn't technically have to breathe, but this made it pretty uncomfortable for him. You pushed harder with your foot, as the blackness began creeping up around your vision, and felt his windpipe crack under your foot. Just as your vision began to completely go, you heard the most magical sound in the world.

 

“Hey ass hat!” Dean yelled from your left. You couldn't see, you were barely conscious, but you heard the sound of a knife entering a body, a shrill cry, and suddenly the hand let go of your throat and you began to fall. Someone caught you before you hit the floor, and you choked and gurgled, and opened your eyes to see Dean staring down at you. “Jesus Christ, Y/N, are you all right?” He looked concerned.

 

“I think so.” You choked out, your throat feeling like it was on fire. You reached up and felt the bump on your head. “You got here right on time.” You managed a smile. Dean smiled back at you, helping you to sit up.

 

“How the hell did you get your foot all the way up to his throat?” Dean asked you, propping you up against the wall and examining your throat and your head, and checking your pupils with his flashlight.

 

“My will to live is pretty strong, I guess.” Your voice sounded like a rusty banjo. “Jesus I sound awful.”

 

“You sound alive.” Dean looked at you. “That's good enough for me.”

* * *

 

Dean eventually got Tony to talk. Crowley would be at a card game in North Dakota the next week, playing some of Hell's most notorious gangsters. As dumb as the plan sounded, you and Dean were going to crash the party. This time you'd be prepared. 

 

Tony was now dead, and Dean helped you to the car as the sun rose over the old oak trees. You leaned against to door, tired. You knew you had bruising around your neck, your head hurt, and you'd just spent a hellacious night listening to a man you were starting to care about torture someone. It was all a lot to handle.

 

Dean was now back to his usual self. Hard Dean was gone. Jovial Dean had turned on the radio, then turned it way down, realizing you had a headache.

 

“Hey Dean.” You croaked out, looking at him through drooping eyelashes. He returned your gaze. “Thanks for saving me back there.”

 

“It's about time I returned the favor.” He replied. He winked at you. Then he'd reached over and taken your hand for just a second, squeezing it. He let go and started the car, and drove out onto the open road.

 

_To be continued_

 


	7. After the Hunt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You wake up after a botched hunt, to find Dean Winchester in bed next to you...

You woke up to the pale morning light creeping in the window. It was raining outside. You peered at your watch and discovered it wasn't yet 6am.  _Great_ , you thought.  _More time to sleep_. That's when you noticed something odd. There was a hand on your ass. 

A questioning look on your face, you turned slightly and peered over your left shoulder at the sleeping form next to you. Dean Winchester. A very naked Dean Winchester. 

As memories from the night before began flooding back into your memory, he groggily opened his eyes. They looked up and met yours.

***

The hunt had been a disaster. Or it would have been, had you not been there to clean up the mess. Crowley had once again avoided the two of you. In his stead, he'd left you a house chock full of demons, all of whom knew you were coming.

You and Dean had been hunting together for three weeks. Sam had broken his leg, and he and Cas were tracking down leads from the bunker. They had enlisted your help, mostly because you were available and actually willing to help a Winchester (not the smartest thing to do in the Hunter's playbook- everyone with a lick of sense knew those boys were always dying), and partly because of your reputation for being somewhat unorthodox in your methods. Your relationship had started off slightly rocky. It was obvious that Dean didn't want to hunt with anyone besides Sam and his Mark of Cain bullshit made him somewhat of a pain in the ass; you were used to flying solo and less that thrilled to put up with someone hellbent on being an asshole. But it hadn't taken long for the two of you to begin to get along. You both had wicked senses of humor, and when you weren't fighting for humanity, you were having a hell of a good time living in whatever hellhole town you were in.

This particular night, you'd shown up at the hideout where Crowley supposedly was playing a wicked cardgame with a few of Hell's most wanted... only to find it overrun with Demons. As per usual, Dean had crashed the party before properly surveying the scene. That damned Mark made him reckless, and he knew it and didn't care, no matter how many times you or anyone else told him so. He'd fought off a shitload of Demons with the First Blade, but by the time you got to him, they were winning the fight and beginning to overtake him. It was a good thing you were inventive. 

A few months back, you had procured (for lack of a better term) an Angel Blade. Since you already had one, you melted the second one down, producing from it 700 tiny ballbearings. Each tiny round ball you placed into an individual bullet. Which Dean was lucky enough to find that you had loaded into your gun, and taken out the last twenty Demons with tonight. He looked on in awe and confusion as they got shot with what appeared to be a regular gun, and died. You unloaded your clip, ran for it, reloaded, turned, and unloaded on them again. When they were all just lifeless piles on the floor, Dean approached you. 

"How the fuck did you just kill Demons with a gun?" He asked you, cleaning gore from his own blade. 

"Melted down an Angel Blade." You replied, reloading again just in case. "You're welcome, by the way." You turned to leave. "He's not here. We're chasing our tails. Let's go." 

Dean led the way out of the house, but turned at the door. "How exactly did you get an Angel Blade to melt down?"

You looked at him coyly. "Trust me Dean, don't ask. You don't want to know."

He seemed like he was going to push the issue, but decided against it. The two of you got back into his car, and began the drive back to the cabin you were currently squatting in. He caught a glimpse of something inside your coat. 

"Oh gimme a break! You have  _another_  Angel Blade??" He raised his eyebrows at you incredulously. You shrugged. 

"How the hell did you get  _two_?"

"They were... available." You replied. He let out a long, withering sigh, and you drove in silence for a while. The weather was turning poor. It went from poor to bad. Sprinkling to drizzling to downpour, to thunder and lightning. Soon, Dean had the Impala practically crawling down the road, the wipers on full blast against the torrential downpour. It seemed to take forever to make it back to the tiny cabin.

He parked the Impala as close to the cabin as humanly possible, but in the thirty seconds it took to get from the car to the door, you were both soaked through to the skin. It was also freezing. You waited, shivering, for him to unlock the door.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Dean swore as he swung the door open and flicked on the lights. The floor of the cabin had partially flooded thanks to a leak in the ceiling. His sleeping bag was soaked, as were both of your backpacks full of dry clothes- the leak was conveniently right above where you'd stashed them. Your heart sank. It was going to be a cold night.

Dean kicked angrily at his sleeping bag, as you started pulling clothes out of your pack and laying them on the countertop to dry. You grabbed a large pot from the cabinet and placed it under the leak. “Dean, don't worry. You can just share the sofa bed tonight. It's not a big deal.” I tried to stay positive. It was really the only option. He couldn't freeze on the floor in a wet sleeping bag, and the sofa bed was the only other place the one-room cabin had to sleep.

After cleaning your guns, teeth chattering the whole time, you climbed under your sleeping bag on the sofa bed. Your clothing had dried some, but not much. You both tossed and turned for a while. Finally Dean turned to you. “I hate to be inappropriate, Princess, but I'm fucking freezing in these clothes. I think I'm getting hypothermia.”

You sighed. You didn't disagree. You were so cold, you couldn't feel your toes or fingers anymore. You told him so. You lay in silence in the dark for a beat. “There's really only one way to handle this.” You finally said.

“We lose the clothes.” He replied.

“You don't have to sound so happy about it.” You said scoldingly, but you felt yourself smiling. In under a minute, you were both out of your wet clothes. You were still cold, but much less so.

After about five minutes, you finally had to give in. “Dean, I'm still fucking freezing.” you admitted.

“Body heat?” He asked.

You nodded. “I think so. I really don't want to freeze to death in this God forsaken cabin.” You could just imagine Sam and Cas looking for you, finding you both naked and frozen in this place. Not a good way to go, or to be remembered.

Dean was at your side in about two seconds, his arms around you, his hands travelling up and down your arms, trying to warm you up with frozen fingers of his own. You had to give him credit- his libido was a thing of legend, but he was being very dignified. His hands weren't travelling anywhere unrespectable.

“You seem pretty eager.” You couldn't help but tease him.

“I can't say I'm _not_ happy about it.” Dean finally said into the darkness. You giggled.

To be honest, you and Dean had been on the verge of, well, _something_ , for weeks. A glance here, a touch held a little too long there, the fact that he wasn't picking up on anyone else anytime you were out at a bar; _something_ was going on. But you both played it off like nothing.

“I can be a little less happy if you want.” Dean said.

“No, no... I can't say this is altogether unpleasant.” You replied, turning towards him and wrapping your arms around him, trying to keep him warm as well. “Oh... um... I see what you mean.” He _was_ happy.

“Yeah. Hey I'm _really sorry_ about that. Just, you know, stop moving. It'll go away in a second.” He seemed embarrassed. You couldn't see him in the dark, but he sounded mortified. You laughed. “Jesus, Y/N, don't laugh at me! That's cruel!” He said in mock insult.

“I'm not laughing at you.” You said, calming myself. “I'm laughing at the situation.”

“ _It is kind of ridiculous_.” He said. Then he leaned down in the dark and kissed you. His tongue slid delicately into your mouth, his lips colliding with yours. He drew back for a moment, waiting to see if you'd reciprocate. You drew in a breath, ran a hand up through his hair, and pulled him back towards you.

“You have protection?” You asked him, gasping for air as he made his way under the covers towards your center. You could feel him smile against you in the dark.

“You have your Angel Blade.” He said, chuckling.

“You know what I mean!”

He slipped out of bed into the freezing cold, and returned a minute later with a condom. “Of course I do. I'm always prepared.” He kissed you once again, then resumed his position under the covers, lavishing you with attention until your toes curled and you thought you were going to ignite with passion. Then he was on top of you, inside of you; you were intertwined. The coldness was gone, and all that was left was warmth, emotion, and Dean.

Dean's eyes fluttered open. He looked around. He looked over at you, seeming to notice where his hand was and that he didn't have any clothes on. You looked at him sheepishly. Now that it was morning, you weren't exactly sure what to make of the night before. You were happy with the decision, but what if Dean had changed his mind, or worse, just didn't care? You were just glad you two hadn't been drunk or anything.

“Did we... sleep together?” He asked, still in the early morning throes of confusion. “We did, didn't we?”

You nodded. You noticed that he hadn't moved his hand from it's resting place on your bottom.

A small smile spread across his lips. He moved his hand, not away from you, but encircling your waist, pulling you closer. “Friggin' finally.” He whispered in your ear. “Finally.” He closed his eyes, hlding you close, and fell back asleep, the rain outside tapping against the window.

 


	8. Lonely is the Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some R&R with Dean, and then a terrible fact comes to light.

You woke again later that morning, Dean's strong arms wrapped around you. You looked up into his face. He was gazing down at you lazily through his eyelashes. You realized he'd probably been watching you sleep for a little while.

 

“Morning.” You smiled, a little shyly for some reason, and buried your face in his neck.

 

“Morning, Killer.” He smiled, nuzzling his face down next to yours, his lips finding your lips. You smiled at his morning kisses. His hands wound themselves up into your hair, and he pulled you against him, kissing you harshly in the cold light of the morning.

 

You came up for air a few minutes later. He'd pulled you up on top of him, and you propped yourself up on his chest. “So about last night...” You began.

 

“Last night was friggin' awesome.” Dean smiled, pushing a strand of hair out of your eyes. “I've been waiting weeks to do that.”

 

“Really?” You raised an eyebrow at him.

 

“Really.” He nodded. “That's all I've been doing the last three weeks. Trying to keep myself from killing people, and thinking about taking you to bed.”

 

You gave him a strange look, but were nonetheless amused at his phrasing. “That's _not exactly_ the most romantic thing I've ever heard.”

 

A devilish grin spread across his face. “Babe, if it's romance you want, I've got that in _spades_.” He smoothly flipped you over so that you were on your back and he was now on top of you. He bent and kissed the side of your neck, his stubble tickling you and sending shivers up your spine.

 

“Do we even have time for romance?” You asked him, smiling up at the ceiling and grasping the back of his neck with your left hand. His hands were sliding down the sides of your body, doing magical things.

 

He stopped kissing you, and looked you straight in the eye. “All business this morning, aren't we?” He winked. “We lost Crowley again. Sam and Cas are working on something. Wouldn't tell me what. Sam texted earlier. They suggested I get some R&R.” He bent once again, blowing softly on the sensitive spot between your shoulder and your neck. “And that's what I intend to do... are you in?”

 

You moaned softly. “What did you have in mind?”

 

You felt him smile as his whiskers tickled your shoulder. “A little of this, a little of that. A few days up in a cabin, away from it all, couldn't do either of us any harm.” He pulled away and looked deep into your eyes. “If you'll have me. I know I haven't been the best partner. If I haven't been trying to kill everything in sight, I've been being a huge douche.”

 

You reached up, trailed your fingers down along the side of his face, his neck, down his chest, over his tattoo, down farther... you bit your lip. The last few weeks had all been leading to this, you knew. You had known all along. You took a deep breath and nodded. “Of course.” You grinned at him. “I'm in. You know I am. You've had you're un-douchey moments, too.”

 

“Great.” He pulled the sleeping bag up over both of your heads. “Let the romance begin!”

 

“What the hell are you doing?” You asked him, giggling, as he wrapped you both up snugly in your sleeping bag, pulling you closer and kissing you all up and down the side of your neck, arms, and down to your stomach.

 

“It's a romance cave.” You could barely make out the goofy grin on his face as he poked his head up to look at you. “What, you've never heard of one of those before?”

 

“No!” You laughed, glad to have “good” Dean back, and not “homicidal maniac” Dean. “But I'll take your word for it, _weirdo._ ”

 

“Trust me, Princess.” He splayed his hands out over your abdomen, running them lower and lower. “I know what I'm doing.”

 

* * *

The next few days were amazing. There was no talk of Crowley, no talk of the Mark, no talk of hunting except to reminisce about old ones you'd been on and compare notes, or argue good naturedly about who was the bigger badass. Dean patched the leaky roof. You went on a supply run into town. All the two of you had to do was wait for word from Sam and Castiel, and enjoy one another's company. Your days were spent taking well deserved naps, making love over and over again until you were physically so exhausted you were unable to do so anymore, and drinking whiskey by the fireplace. You'd never met a man you were more drawn to, sexually or emotionally, as Dean Winchester. Even at his darkest.

 

You'd been at the cabin nearly a week. You were in the middle of a particularly robust sexual escapade when Dean's phone started ringing. He reached over and clicked it off, returning his attention and his lips to yours. No sooner had he done so, then it started ringing again. He looked at the phone, and turned it off again. Then a third time, it rang. “God damn it, Sammy.” He sighed. He rolled off of you, pulling out, kissed you lightly across the lips, and picked up the phone. “This had _better be good_ , man.” he growled into the cell.

 

You heard snippets of conversation. “What? No. We were... I was, busy... Yeah. No, Sam, when I don't answer there's usually a _reason_... It was a _very_ good reason.... Whatever, man. What've you got? What? Now? You're on your way up? Yeah. I see. Okay. Hang on. I'll call you right back.” He hung up the phone. You watched him climb off of the sofa bed, pull some jeans on, then his boots, and throw a jacket on over his bare chest. He turned to you. “I have to talk to Sam. I'm going outside for a few.” You nodded. He left.

 

* * *

“He's just going to _give the First Blade to you_?” Dean asked his brother incredulously.

 

“Yes.” Sam replied.

 

“How'd you swing that, Sammy?” Dean asked worriedly. He could hear traffic in the background of his brother's phone. Sam had gotten his cast off that morning, and was on his way up.

 

“Nothing bad, Dean. I used my upstairs brain. I called him and asked for it. To be honest, he's so tired of yours and Y/N's bullshit, he said he'd give me the blade so long as you don't get your hands on it. Actually, he's giving Cas the blade. But you need to come back so we can finish this.”

 

Dean sat on the steps for a few minutes, silent. “This is gonna get ugly, isn't it, Sammy?”

 

“Probably, Dean.” He heard Sam sigh. “With us, it usually does.”

 

“I want Y/N out of it.”

 

“What? I thought you two were getting on great? I thought she was an asset?”

 

“She is. And we are. That's why she's out.” Dean ran a hand over the back of his neck. “Things are going to get a whole lot worse before they get better. She's not getting hurt over this.”

 

“If that's what you want.” Sam didn't sound convinced. “I can leave this car with her then, when I get there.”

 

“How long til you're here?”

 

“I'll be there in the morning. Probably around nine.”

* * *

 

Dean slunk in the door, and looked around. Y/N wasn't in the cabin. He looked around curiously. It was only one room, where could you have gone? He saw the back door standing open, and ventured out, down a small path into the woods. Twilight was setting in.

 

You could hear his footsteps on the path before you could see him. “Y/N?” You heard him call. You sat back against the tree, the whiskey bottle hanging precariously from your fingertips. “Y/N?” He called again.

 

“I'm over here, Dean.” You replied gruffly. He stopped, turned, and approached you, coming around the large tree.

 

“What are you doing out here?” He asked, standing over you questioningly.

 

“You're leaving me behind?” Your voice was flat and you didn't look up at him, you looked out into the darkening trees.

 

“You heard my conversation.”

 

“You're the observant one, aren't you?” You asked mockingly. “You weren't exactly quiet.”

 

Dean sighed, and sunk down onto the ground beside you. He took the bottle from your hand and took a long drink. “Did you happen to wait around and listen to _why_ I'm not taking you with me?” He turned to you, looking at you earnestly. You refused to look his way.

 

“No, but please, _do tell._ ” You huffed out. You were fuming. Sure, the two of you were hunters. The odds of a “happily ever after” weren't very good, but you hadn't expected Dean to love you and leave you in the middle of North Dakota at the drop of a hat. You turned to him. “I didn't expect much from you, Dean, but I expected more than a week of sex and then to be dropped on my ass in the middle of nowhere in fucking North Dakota. I thought I meant at least _something_ to you.”

 

“ _You do_ , Y/N. And that's why you can't come along for this last part.” Dean was looking at the ground now. “You've been my only anchor the last few weeks. You have no idea the things that are running through my head right now, about you.” He stopped and took another drink. “But I'm headed down a really dark road, and I'm not bringing you along. I'm not putting you through that. I'm not taking another person, and putting them in danger, because of my stupid mistake. Sam and Cas having to deal is bad enough. I refuse to throw you into the mix too. You were never part of the equation after I got the First Blade. And _this happening_ , with you, _this was definitely never part of the equation_. Which is more reason to keep you out of it.”

 

“You expect me to have come with you this far and walk away now?” You looked at him, eyes wide. How could he expect anyone to do that?

 

He looked at you long and hard. “No, but I'm asking you to. I'm asking you to let me go fight this battle, and fight it alone.” He passed the bottle over to you, and took your hand that was resting on the ground between the two of you.

 

“Then what? I'll never even know what happens?”

 

He suddenly reached out to you, turning your face gently towards him. “If I get through this, if I get rid of this Mark, you _will_ hear from me again. I _will_ find you.” He took a deep breath, one that rattled in his chest. “And if I don't... Sammy will find you. You'll know either way.”

 

You nodded sadly at him. You knew he was protecting you, whether you wanted him to or not. He was once again shutting down, shutting you out. The two of you held hands and finished what was left in the bottle of whiskey, watching the sun sink below the treeline.

* * *

 

“All right, everything's packed. You ready to go, Dean?” Sam asked the next morning. He shut the trunk of the Impala and looked at his brother expectantly.

 

Dean ran a hand through his hair. “Yeah. Yeah, give me a minute, Sam, okay?” Sam nodded and got into the car. Dean pulled you back into the cabin.

 

You'd spent the last night together, like it were your last, because it possibly was. You had no idea what trials he was going to have to face to lose that Mark of Cain, and neither did he. You'd memorized every inch of him, committed it all to memory. And now daylight was upon you, and he was almost out of your grasp.

 

He closed the door behind you and turned to you. “Listen, Y/N. I just wanted to tell you... I don't know what's going to happen. I don't know if this will end well, or if I'll die, or if Demon Dean will come out again and Cas will have to kill me. I don't know. But... if this was all my last hurrah... it was one hell of a ride.” He smiled sadly at you. “I'm glad you were with me. You're a hell of a hunting partner.”

 

“You're not so bad yourself.” You mustered up a wan grin. “You're terrible at karaoke, though.”

 

He chuckled at that. He grabbed you and pulled you to him, pressing his lips to yours. Then he was gone, and you were left in the cabin, alone, with the keys to a vintage mustang, and the smell of Dean Winchester on your skin.

* * *

_Six Months Later_

 

You wiped off the counter top of the bar and shoved some more napkins into the holder. You'd gone on hiatus from hunting about two months ago, pulled into this sleepy little town in Iowa, and gotten a job as a bar-back at a Hunter's bar to pay the bills. Truth was, after the shenanigans with Dean and stalking the King of Hell, you'd kind of burned out on vengeful spirits and rugarus, and needed a break.

 

You hadn't heard from Dean or Sam since that last time you'd seen them at the cabin. You'd given up hope around the same time you'd taken the job at this shitty bar. You needed a rest. You needed to face the facts that Dean was probably dead. He probably hadn't been able to get rid of the Mark of Cain. The Demon had probably reared it's ugly head, and Castiel had most likely had to put him down. You pushed the thought out of your head as the bell sounded, alerting you that there was a customer coming in the doors.

 

You looked up and immediately your mouth fell open. This was a man you hadn't expected to see. He smiled very slightly and held up his hand in a slight wave. You just stared, wide eyed, not sure what to think. Your heart began to pound and you began to sweat. He approached, his long strides bringing him quickly to the bar. He slid onto a stool and folded his hands in front of him. “Hey, Y/N. Can I get a whiskey?”

 

“Hey, Sam. Coming right up.”

 

_to be continued in the last installment_

 


	9. If I Should Fall Behind (Finale)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam comes to get you, and tells you some devastating news about Dean.

You got Sam his whiskey, and stood across the bar from him.

“I never thought I’d see you again. Either of you.” You started carefully. “So since you’re here... does that mean Dean’s...” Your voice caught in your throat. You couldn’t continue.

“No.” Sam shook his head, downing his drink in one go. “Oh God, no, Y/N! Sorry to scare you! Dean isn’t dead.” He reached over the counter and put a steadying hand on your shoulder. You felt your heart stop beating so quickly, and a certain amount of calm fall over your body. Dean wasn’t dead. Your months of agony were over. Dean wasn’t dead.

“Does he still have the Mark?”

Sam shook his head again. “No. That’s finally gone. It took a lot, but it’s over now.”

“No offense Sam, because it’s good to see you, it really is, but why are  _you_ here and not Dean?” You looked him point blank in the eye. You didn’t really know Sam. You’d texted with him and spoken on the phone a bit while you’d been out hunting with his brother, but the only time you’d ever met him was when he’d come and taken Dean away from you. So as much as you were glad to see that he was alive and well, you really were more concerned about why his brother  _wasn’t_  the one sitting in front of you. Even if Dean had defeated the Mark and decided that he really didn’t want to see you ever again, that you really were just a few weeks of hunting and a week of fun in North Dakota, you really couldn’t see him bitching out and sending his brother to come tell you that. You couldn’t see Sam agreeing to play messenger boy for something like that, either. So something was clearly up. Something wa clearly  _wrong._

Sam looked around the dim bar. There was no one there except himself and you in it. “You off soon?”

“I’m off at two tonight... it’s a bar, Sam.” You looked up as a few more people came in the door; a motley collection, probably hunters. 

“I’ll be back at two. There’s a lot we need to talk about.” He slid some money for his drink and a tip across the bar to you. “Dean isn’t well. He doesn’t know I’m here. I’ll tell you everything later. But I came to get you to take you back with me. Is there any way you can? I didn’t expect you to  _actually_  be working at a bar... I expected this to be a hunt and a fake bar gig. I didn’t figure I’d be interrupting gainful employment.”

“Sam, I work at a hunter’s bar.” You smiled at the new customers, signaling to them that you’d be right over. “I’ll tell the boss I’m going hunting. My rent’s paid up until the end of the month. Besides... it’s Dean.”

***

You locked up promptly at two, shooing the guests out the door as quickly as possible. Sam was waiting in the lot in the Impala. You walked over to the car and leaned down to look at him through the window. “I live a few blocks from here. Give a girl a ride to pick up some stuff, and we can get gone?”

Sam nodded. “Of course.” You slid into the passenger seat of the old car. You breathed in the familiar scent of old leather. He drove you to your shabby studio apartment. You let him in while you grabbed some clothes and threw them into a bag. Reaching into your dresser, your hand stopped at a familiar piece of fabric. The grey henley shirt that Dean had left with you. You’d been wearing it the morning he’d gone. You remembered, hazily, him telling you to keep it.  _“It looks better on you than it does on me” he’d said, even though you’d seriously begged to differ. “Plus, it smells like me. That way you won’t forget about me.” he’d said, giving you a sad, lopsided grin._  You shook yourself out of your memory and you and Sam returned to the car. He started it up, and you began the long drive from Iowa to Kansas.

“He let you take the Impala? You know he never  _once_  let me drive it?”

Sam grinned at that, but the grin didn’t quite reach his worried eyes. He didn’t look like he’d slept in a long time. “He thinks I’m on a hunt. Some teenagers in Carson City summoned up a Tulpa in the form of a World of Warcraft villain. Thinks I’m hunting that. Let me have the car for a few days.”

“Is that..  _a real case_?” You asked incredulously. 

Sam nodded. “Apparently there were enough people in their guild to get the thing started... some other hunters are on it.”

“That sounds like something Dean would pay money to go see. Why aren’t you both  _actually_  hunting it?”

Sam let out one of the longest sighs you’d ever heard in your life. “Dean isn’t doing  _anything_. He barely eats, he’s drinking way too much, he sleeps but not well, I can barely get him to leave his room. He’s not good. He hasn’t been well since he killed Cain, but he hasn’t really gotten any better since we got rid of the Mark.”

You were really sad to hear that. Even as a near-homicidal-maniac, Dean had been so full of life. He’d been _fun_. Howling at the moon and all that shit. “What happened?”

“ _A lot_. He did a lot of bad things. We all did. The difference between Dean, and Cas and I, is that Dean can’t see the end result.” Sam stopped at a light and looked at you. “He nearly killed Cas, and he nearly killed me. More than once. And I know you were upset about being left behind, but he would have nearly killed you, too. Or killed you. I don’t know. But I’ve been trying for weeks to bring my brother back from the edge, and nothing is working.” The light turned from red to green, and Sam’s eyes went back to the road. “I thought it would all be over when the Mark was gone, but I was wrong. It’s like he won’t do anything now; he’s just given up. Like he’s afraid that he’ll slip up and it will all come back.”

You listened quietly. So their ordeal had only been over for a few weeks. You were angry that you hadn’t gotten any updates, but you suppressed that. From what little Sam was telling you, they’d been up to their ears in shit and dropping you a text hadn’t been top priority. You knew how it went, to get so lost in something that everything else suffered for it. 

“So what exactly is it that I’m supposed to do?” You asked Sam quietly. “You’re his brother. He thinks the world of you, and he won’t listen to you. Castiel is a fucking Angel and he can’t fix Dean... I knew him for a month on the road. I’m just another girl in the saga of Dean Winchester’s libido.”

“Initially, and please don’t take this the wrong way, that’s what I thought, too.” Sam admitted. “I knew you were the best hunter I could find for him, and I knew you had the best chance of keeping him grounded just because you could probably kick his ass if push came to shove... but I know how he is with the ladies.” He slowed to get onto an onramp. “But then he’d text me or call me from the road with you, and I started figuring out something was different.”

“How?”

“He talked about you. A lot. And that’s weird for Dean.” Sam shot you a sideways glance. “He didn’t go into details or say anything embarrassing. It was all really... mundane things actually. But he doesn’t  _do_  that. So I kind of figured out you were important.” You nodded. You hadn’t known this. It would have been nice to have known six months earlier. “Honestly, Y/N, I wasn’t even sure about involving you. I was going to call you soon and tell you he was alive, of course. I wasn’t going to leave you in the dark. But I was thinking that Cas and I could handle it. But...”

“But what?”

“When Dean does sleep, which isn’t very often anymore, I can sometimes hear him talking in his sleep. I’ll hear him when he nods off on the couch or when I’m walking down the hallway past his room. And when he talks in his sleep, all he ever says is your name.” There was a long silence in the car. It felt like it went on forever. “And when he says it, it sounds like he’s at peace.”

You looked at Sam, small tears forming in your eyes.  _Don’t cry, damn it. You don’t cry. You killed monsters, you saved lives, you hunted. You didn’t cry._  “Sam,” you spoke softy, placing a hand on his jacketed arm. “You need to drive faster.”

***

You arrived at the bunker midmorning, driving straight through the night. You  _did_  get to drive the Impala, with you and Sam taking turns getting a bit of shut eye. Sam told you that he’d let Dean explain as much or as little of what happened with the Mark as he wanted to, and you respected that decision. You weren’t even entirely sure he’d want to see you. He sounded like a changed man, and he may not have changed into something that was doable for either of you. For all you knew, he could take one look at you, laugh in Sam’s face, and send you packing. 

Sam unlocked the door and led you down a staircase and through a series of rooms, eventually leading to a hallway. He stopped outside of a door.

“Sammy, is that you?” a tired voice called out from the inside.

Sam ran a hand through his hair and looked at you. You nodded. “Yeah Dean, it’s me. And I brought someone to see you.”

“Son of a bitch, Sam! You know I don’t want any visitors-” Sam pushed the door open, and Dean turned from his sitting position on his bed, cutting himself off midsentence. “Y/N.” He looked at you, eyes wide. You stood in the doorway, suddenly not sure what to do with yourself. You dropped your knapsack to the floor.

He got up and walked over to you. His hair was dirty and he smelled of whiskey, but he was there, and he was whole. You could see his arm, and you could see that the Mark was _not_  there. He took three strides across the room, pulled you in, and shut the door behind you. “ _Thank you_ , Sammy.” He said quietly,  _gratefully_ , as the door closed.

Then he pulled you to him, let out a huge sigh of relief, wrapped his arms around you, and you once again stood there, holding together the broken pieces of Dean Winchester. 


	10. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because there is no magical cure...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> per request- :)

Dean didn’t get better overnight. I wasn’t a cure-all, nor had Sam, Cas, or myself ever expected me to be. I was another cog in the wheel; another weapon in the arsenal; another hand to pull him out of where he was and place him firmly back where he belonged.

It broke my heart, but it really didn’t matter how much we cared about him, it mattered if we could get him to care about himself again. Sam had thought thay maybe, just maybe, the girl who had put some spark into his misery during his Mark of Cain ordeal could breathe some life into it now. And thankfully he was right, but it was agonizingly slow going.

Anyone who knows the Winchester brothers knows they are two of the most damaged human beings on Earth. How they’d managed to bounce back as many times as they had was beyond me, but I’d be damned if we were gonna let this be the time Dean decided to lock himself up and throw away the key. I didn’t care what he’d done to get rid of that Mark, or how bad of a person he was perpetually convinced he was. I’d decided on that drive from Iowa to Kansas that whatever I came upon, I was going to try my best. Dark Dean, light Dean; we were going to try until he got better, or it became clear he never would. I hoped the latter wasn’t an option.

After the initial shock of my being there, the initial intimacy and days spent in his room getting reacquainted, getting  _physical_ , and spending hours just talking with our fingers laced together and his Led Zeppelin records spinning in the background, he continued to refuse to leave the bunker. Or even touch a weapon or think about a hunt. This wasn’t the Dean I knew; it wasn’t the Dean ANY of us knew.

I finally sat him down for the hard talk. “Dean, you need to stop being a pussy.” I sat across from him at the table one day. Sam had gone into town and Dean had refused to go.

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me. Stop… Being… A… Pussy." I looked directly at him. "I get it. You went through some shit. But going with your brother to the grocery store isn’t an amazing feat. It’s life. You have to do it. You have to get out."

He continued to just look at me.

"I came here for you, Dean. To lend you the support you need. But I don’t know how to do that. I’m supposed to be out kicking asses, and frankly,  _so are you_. So you need to get your shit together. And if baby steps are what it takes, thats fine, but you at least have to take those steps. Sam didn’t have me come here to become stagnant with you. I came here to move you along with me.”

Dean was lost in thought for a long time. His eyes had glazed over, not in violence as before with the Mark, but with despair. “I don’t need you all feeling sorry for me.” he got up and traipsed back to his room. “And by the way, I’m fine, princess. Everything is  _fine_.” I knew he didn’t believe that. None of us believed that. I heard the door to his room close. I sighed. I had tried, but he had to do this for himself.

Eventually little bits and pieces of the old Dean started shining through. He had immediately began sleeping better as soon as I arrived, and drinking less soon followed. Although I initially didn’t think that our talk had worked, and I was nearing the point of giving up, he soon started to snap out of it. It was a slow crawl, as depression and self-loathing often is. But he started joking more. He began participating in research to help Sam with small cases around the state. He began razzing Castiel about things again. Then one day, out of the blue, he suggested we take a drive in his car. He hadn’t been out since the whole deal went down.

He slid behind the wheel, ran his hands over the dash, turned the knobs on the radio, and licked his lips. He turned to me. “Where should we go?”

"Wanna go hunt something?" I asked hopefully.

"No… Not quite yet." He turned the key. His eyes lit up at the engine roared to life. "I’m getting there, though."

"The Mark is gone, Dean. It’s not coming back."

He nodded. “I’m getting that now.” He sighed, but gave me a weak smile. I noticed the smile actually reached his eyes this time. “I just need a little more time.”

I nodded. “We’ve got your back.” I put my hand on his arm.  “I know you need to do this at your own pace.”

He gave me a devilish grin, leaned over and kissed me. “Let’s go howl at the moon.”

He was back.

_Carry on my wayward son…_


End file.
